


No Words

by inlaterdays



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlaterdays/pseuds/inlaterdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tunguska missing scene fic, because I felt like writing one. Originally posted to LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Words

Mulder had never smiled at me, not even in the days when he was starting to trust me.

He wasn't smiling now, but neither was I.

We were hiking in toward the crater, hitching rides when our route took us near enough to a road to permit it. Camping was Mulder's idea. I'd wanted to stay at farmhouses, but Mulder disliked being dependent on my translating skills, and his distrust and paranoia were at high tide.

So we hiked. But I was done for the day.

"Let's make camp," I suggested.

"No, a bit farther." Easy for him to say; he was making me carry the backpack.

I stopped anyway, then shrugged off the pack and dropped it. "This is far enough unless you want to take a turn as pack mule. Anyway, it'll be dark soon. We're not on a fucking nature walk." I sat down.

He came and stood over me, glowering; I pulled my hat down over my eyes. I didn't care. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and I wasn't driven by his particular inner demons. One day couldn't make a difference.

"Fine," he said at last.

We made camp in silence, ate in silence, and drank canteen water in silence. Mulder's resentment over his difficulty with the language barrier was just the latest in a long line of grudges. He was a five-star sulker, never speaking to me unless he needed something...except at night, when he needed to talk. He'd turn into his usual voluble self for an hour or so as he relaxed before we fell asleep.

I looked forward to those times.

He was quiet tonight, though, even after we bedded down. The forest was quiet, too, apart from the occasional rustlings of animals in the brush. Mulder lay in his sleeping bag, hands behind his head, staring upward.

I stared at his profile for awhile, silhouetted against the tent canvas by the light of the full moon.

"What's the matter?" I asked at last.

"Nothing."

"You're quiet."

"Just thinking."

"What about?" I raised myself up on one elbow to see him better.

He turned his head, his eyes glinting in the half-light, and gave me that deceptively-mild-but-intense gaze of his, the one that made my stomach turn flipflops. The one that I'd rather die than let him know affected me that way.

"You wouldn't want to hear it, trust me."

"Yeah," I said, "I would. Of course I would." Keep that puppyish eagerness out of your voice, Alex. God.

Last night it had been a discourse on the differences between garden snails and sea snails. I didn't care what he said as long as he said something.

"About you," he said, just as I'd been about to encourage him again.

Well, that was unexpected. I shut my mouth.

"What about me?"

"About why it is I hate you so much."

...Damn. It figured. He was about due to let off steam again. One long laundry list of The Sins Of Alex Krycek, Real and Imagined, coming up. This could keep him awake till dawn, and that I was not up for. I wished I'd bought those earplugs at the airport.

I lay down again, grabbed my hat and put it over my face. He leaned over and knocked it off.

"Goddamit!" I said, "What? I know you hate me, okay? Take it as read."

"No," he said, "You asked, and I want you to listen this time." He was really seething. He began to crawl over towards me.

"Mulder, if you hit me again, I'm going to leave you here, I swear to God."

"I'm not going to hit you."

I snorted. "Yeah, right."

My ribs still felt bruised from the last pummeling he'd given me. He never seemed to notice that I didn't fight back.

"No," he said, "Fuck you. Listen. And look at me."

"What?"

"I was starting to trust you, you bastard. I _wanted_ to. Not the way I trust Scully, but - differently. It could have been good. I mean - goddamit."

"I'm a bad person," I said in a bored tone.

"No," he said, "No. You're a fucking _awful_ person. Why?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't have to be. You didn't. That's what kills me. Okay, maybe a little bit of the reason it hurts is because you said you knew something about my work, and I stupidly wanted to believe it wasn't all just fake."

"It wasn't all just fake," I muttered.

"Then _why_?" He was always desperate for answers, but mine were locked away in a box inside my head that even I didn't open.

"I told you. I don't know."

"You can't _want_ to be like this?"

"Stuck with Fox Mulder, Amateur Psychiatrist, in the middle of a fucking forest? No, right now I don't want to be like this."

"You can get help," he started, but I wasn't going there. No way.

"I thought you hated me."

"I do, but only because I used to like you."

I stared. What. The fuck. If this was some crazy mind game, I was not in the mood. And if it wasn't, I didn't want to think about it.

"Krycek -"

"Leave it!" I yelled. He was so full of himself sometimes. "You were never even nice to me. You ditched me, you didn't trust me, never mind whether I gave you reason to. Just fuck off."

"This isn't about me."

"It's _always_ about you. Why the hell do you think I'm here?" I turned over to face the wall of canvas. Fuck. Just fuck. Maybe I'd sleep outside and maybe bears wouldn't eat me.

"Krycek," he said again. He shook my shoulder, roughly; I shook him off.

"You asked," he said, still pursuing like a dog after a bone, in true Mulder fashion. He tried twice more to roll me over, and the last time, defeated, I let him.

But the look he gave me, even in the dimness, was so full of pain and lost hope that I couldn't stand it.

He started to speak again, but I didn't, couldn't, want to hear what he had to say to me, looking like that. I decided desperately to shock him and shut him up.

"I just - " he began. I grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt, pulled him down to me, and kissed him full on the mouth. If he was going to go at me again, I might as well do something to deserve it.

He looked dazed when I released him. I looked up at him defiantly, expecting him to hit me or start name-calling again. At least they'd be different names for a change.

He rocked back on his heels, hair sticking up, his breathing sounding funny. He sat that way for maybe half a second before he leaned in, staring at me, while I waited. Now I was fuming too.

He made an odd, strangled sound, and he looked both angry and confused. He put one hand on my shoulder, and then his mouth came down firmly on mine, shocking /me/.

He drew back again and we looked at each other, gauging, before we met again of one accord.

His tongue pressed against my teeth; half violent attack, half - what? Something else. Something other. I had always let him have his way, and I now let him invade my mouth the way I'd let him invade my space ( _anything you want_ ), and felt him moan against my lips.

I broke away for a gulp of air. "Mulder?" _I could lose myself in you. I'm afraid to. I'm afraid I want to._

"Shut up. Just - shut up."

"Okay," was all I had time for before he was on top of me again. And then there were no words for a time, just two bodies wrestling in the darkness, striving against or for each other, the way we'd always wrestled in the light.

He was clawing at my shirt, ripping it at the neck, until I stripped it off.

He did the same with his. His bare skin against mine was hot, incandescent.

_What are we doing?_

_Don't think. Don't speak. Just feel._

I felt.

Mulder was still kissing me, his back smooth under my hand. I bit at his lip as he pulled his mouth away.

He began kissing down my torso, sucking so hard in places he made me groan. He was going to leave marks. Maybe he wanted to leave marks. They could go with the bruises...but I didn't care.

I fisted my hands in his hair, willing myself not to push him downward. His hair was soft, not at all as bristly as it looked.

He reached the button of my jeans as I arched a bit, involuntarily, my hands dropping to my sides.

He fingered the snap and looked up at me, a question in his eyes.

"Yes..." hoarsely. Oh God, yes. Are you kidding me? Yesyesyes.

I sighed with relief as he undid the zipper, relieving some of the pressure.

He laughed softly, presumably at my lack of underwear. I'd ditched them days ago. We'd managed to wash ourselves, but laundry wasn't a priority for me.

I lifted my ass to let him shrug down and remove my jeans. He paused a moment. _Oh God, don't leave me there, don't -_

But I need not have worried. A warm palm was wrapped around me, and by this time I was panting, desperate for him, as I had always been.

"Hey, he said softly, in surprise, running his thumb over my tip, rolling the foreskin gently back and forth.

"Yeah," I managed, though I could barely think, let alone speak.

He lowered his head, taking me partway into his mouth. I gasped; turned my head to the side. God. Oh, yeah.

Alternately sucking and licking, he took me deeper than I'd expected. Over and over again, driving me crazy.

"Stop squirming," he scolded. "I'll bite."

"Do it."

He bit lightly around the top, just the lightest touch of teeth, simultaneously cupping me underneath.

"Finish - oh God, please." _I'm going to die._

"Shh," he said, but he lowered his head again, and then I was completely lost, fucking that beautiful sulky mouth of his over and over until I exploded and lay back gasping.

All I could hear was the sound of my breathing and the blood pounding in my ears. I closed my eyes, overcome. When I opened them again, he was wiping his mouth on the back of his hand; gazing at me, expressionless, expectant.

I sat up; put a hand to his bare chest. His heart was beating as frantically as mine, but he looked calm. I pushed gently; he fell back against the sleeping bag. I leaned over and kissed him again, tasting myself on him, which drove me wild.

I put a hand on his jeans, where he was straining the fabric, and his eyes closed. Leaning down, I licked around the waistband; heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Tease."

"Mmm."

I undid his snap with my teeth. He laughed softly in the darkness. I slowly undid the zipper, and then it was my turn to laugh: he was wearing clean boxerbriefs. So that's what he'd been buying at the duty-free shop. He must have felt my shoulders shaking, because he smacked me lightly on the arm. Sobering, I attended again to business.

We freed him of both layers of clothing and discarded them, and I knew an instant's hesitation. I'd known he wasn't small, but had never seen him fully aroused before.

I cupped my palm around him and heard him sigh. Stroking gently, I bent my head and began licking at the same time, making him groan. I took as much of him as I could; managing the rest with my hand.

"Start slow," he said, "just - yeah. Oh, yeah."

He pushed up into me and I reached around him with one hand, clawing his ass lightly, exploring while I sucked. He arched, and I plunged the tip of one finger inside. He writhed back against my finger, and I paused to say, "Now you stop squirming."

"Can't, he said, "Harder." Mulder, impaled on my finger and hard against my palm. I felt myself growing hard again at his excitement.

"God," he said, as I stroked, "Oh God - I'm - "

"Go," I said, and took him in my mouth again. He drove in as far as he could, twice, three times, again, until I felt him fill me. He gave a wordless shout as he finished. I swallowed, gulping for breath afterwards. Still breathing raggedly, I disentangled myself and came up to lie beside him, sweating, replete, passion spent.

Whatever an angry, improvised piece of music is after it's been played, that's what we were in that moment: something real and passionate but ephemeral, never to be repeated. My chest ached.

He pulled me against him tightly. I usually didn't like to be touched afterwards, but with him I allowed it. I didn't want him to see my face, so I turned on my side. He spooned me, still holding me, pressing tightly against my spine.

I must have made a noise I wasn't aware of.

"Hey," he said.

I was silent.

"Are you crying?" he asked softly.

"No," I lied.

"Good," he said.

And in the darkness, face pressed against my back, I finally felt Mulder smile at me.


End file.
